


just keep walking (murphy, please stop talking)

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I Tried, M/M, actually, bad description, bad tags, bad title, but also a few cute parts, horrible trigedasleng translations, im a little sorry but like not too sorry, several - Freeform, some very sad parts this time, ya feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing went right on the journey, and nothing went right at the destination.</p><p>"Are we there yet?"</p><p>"Shut up, Murphy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	just keep walking (murphy, please stop talking)

**Author's Note:**

> If you've just now found this series, you have to start from the beginning. You just have to. Sorry, I don't make the rules.  
> ~  
> And if you've been on this journey with the two lovely little crazies from the beginning, please enjoy this installment. It's a bit longer than usual, sorry! But it's fun, I think. Kind of sad. Don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> It's the moment none of you wanted to come! Let's get angsty.
> 
> <3

“How much farther?”

“Oh my God, Clarke, if you don’t shut him up-“

“Are we almost there?”

Miller spun around in the sand littered grass underfoot- as they had just reached the thin smattering of small, frail trees where the Dead Zone ended and the true forest began- fists balled tight against his sides.

“Nathan.” David scolded, and Miller groaned in exasperation as Murphy smiled, raising a middle finger for display as slowly as possible.

Clarke had, for some godforsaken reason, believed that there was a chance that Murphy and Miller would get along. And they had. For a while.

Things fell apart at the minefield, where Murphy began grousing about the heat.

-

“If you whine one more time, I’m going to personally fling you into the sun.” the youngest Miller threatened, sounding as calm and monotonous as usual.

“Well it’s even hotter up there. That wouldn’t do much for my complaining, would it?”

“Sure it would. You’d be dead.”

“Screw you, Martin.”

“It’s Miller.”

“Okay, _Miller._ Guess what?” Murphy provoked.

The cadet sighed, rolling his neck as they walked across burning sand. “What?”

“I don’t care.”

“Both of you, just _shut up_.” David shouted, at last, and Clarke snickered, receiving a shove from Murphy and a look kin to something like amusement from Keilan.

-

She thought some of the trees around here looked familiar, but that was a wild guess. There were a lot of trees.

Murphy was significantly more affectionate when drowsy, and the days of walking with minimal rest, added to the relief that the thick canopy of the forest offered from the heat, all seemed to have finally gotten him to that point.

Of course, this is just what Clarke gathered from his arm thrown heavily across her shoulders, sandy haired head finding a home on her shoulder.

“You know, it’s much more difficult to walk this way.”

“I don’t mind.” He mumbled, and Clarke bit back a grin.

“And what if I do?”

“You don’t.” He answered, slinging his other arm around her and nuzzling her neck.

“Murphy!“ She grunted, shoving his arms off and stepping to the side, leaving his arms dangling by his sides.

He smiled lazily, leaning back to run his hands through the leaves that drooped from tired branches above them, and Clarke looked ahead, searching for any familiar landmarks to signify if they were near.

“Miller, I’d like to apologize in advance for what I’m about to ask, but seriously, are we getting close?”

The third guard who had revealed his name to be Nolan cleared his throat, supposedly preparing to speak for the first time in a few hours. “A few more miles.”

Clarke heard a whimper behind her, but chose to ignore it.

“And we’re safe, right? Keilan, your people won’t attack?”

“Our warriors have orders not to harm the golden-haired or anyone with her.” He answered quickly without making eye contact, spear still trained at the trees, “For the beasts.” he had said.

Clarke nodded, lip twitching into a small smile as Murphy sauntered up from behind, tucking his chin into her collarbone as they walked. “The golden-haired. How original." Clarke humored him with a breathy giggle. "I think I'll stick with Princess." He drawled, twisting a wavy strand of blonde around his index finger.

Bellamy's old henchman looked over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief before he shook his head and resumed the idle chat with his father.

“Stop it.” Clarke murmured playfully after catching sight of Miller’s suspicious glance, slapping Murphy’s hands away and walking farther ahead.

“Slow down!”

“Aren’t you the one who was in such a hurry to get there?”

A strange kind of silence settled over the group, the kind where Murphy lacked a comeback to something and suddenly got very quiet, staring into the distance with a confused look on his face.

This was going to be the longest trip of her life.

-

“I see the station, up ahead.” David shouted from far ahead, hurrying to get back.

“Oh, goodie.” Murphy deadpanned, and Clarke nudged his head from her place on his back. How she managed to get that giant baby to give her a piggyback ride for the last ten minutes was beyond her. "Go on, stupid. We got this, remember?" She whispered, combing through his messy hair with her fingers as he tightened his hold on her legs.

"Okay." He breathed, but before he could take another step, Clarke was falling.

Keilan rushed to stand in front of her after dragging Clarke off of her friend with a sharp tug, instructing the other guards as well as Murphy to form a ring of protection around her. He held a finger to his lips as Clarke frowned, unhappy with the situation. Their lives were no more valuable than her own.  She had _relearned_ that the hard way.

Suddenly, a Grounder, so heavily tattooed that she appeared to be more ink than skin, became visible over to the right, perched on a tree branch with a bow and arrow trained in their general direction.

“Keilan kom Tri Kru?”

“Sha. Chon chinch op?” Keilan said, leaning forward slightly, seemingly testing the waters.

“Ste daun weron yu ste kamp!”

“Don’t move.” Keilan said, and Murphy noticeably tensed. The others might have as well, but Clarke wasn’t focusing on them.

“Osir gaf gouthru klir. Ai gada in Klark kom Skai Kru en ai dula ste kom teik em kom ste Heda, klir.”

“Kom weron?” The woman asked slowly, quieter now.

“Ste Soncha Kapa.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Ai dula op wich in dei. Ba yo pat daun kom teik au?”

Keiran shook his head side to side, and the woman smiled, eyebrows pulled together, waving them on.

“What the hell just ha-“ An arrow pierced the ground right in front of Murphy’s feet and he scrambled backwards, tripping over his forever poorly tied shoelaces and falling into Miller’s arms. Who then proceeded to, naturally, drop him on the ground.

The woman stood up, balancing herself with a hand on the branch above her, and grinned at the boy as he rose, grumbling and dusting dirt and wet leaves off of his ass.

“The loud one has sent all game running scared for miles. Silence him for the remainder of your journey, or I will.”

The grounder began to turn around to leave, when the one voice Clarke especially did not want to hear rang out through the quiet forest.

_“Silence yourself, bitch!”_

-

So that’s how John Murphy ended up limping the rest of the way back to camp, an arrow in his thigh.

And God, had he never complained more.

-

“Ready Clarke?” David cringed at the sight of her emptying the contents of her stomach into the grass.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, kicking some leaves over her tossed lunch. “Absolutely.” She said, voice wavering, and Miller almost smiled.

Clarke looped her arm through Murphy’s, but he began to pull away. She looked at him, hurt, before he started to explain himself. “They’re all going to see you...”

She brushed his hair out of his eyes, placing a hand on either side of his face and forcing him to face her instead of the camp. “John Murphy?”

He tore his eyes from the ground to meet hers, and when he did, she stood up on her tip-toes and planted a spontaneous kiss on the corner of his mouth, leaving him sputtering and off-balanced.

“I don’t care.”

Miller forced his own mouth closed after what looked to be a rather painful jaw-drop, eyes still darting over them, struggling to understand.

“Now I’m ready.” Clarke declared, stepping forward. She knew Murphy was behind her, likely still reeling from her previous actions, and the thought made her smile.

The third guard stifled a grin at the teenagers and turned to the warrior, who was, of course, thoroughly annoyed. “Thank you for all of your help. Inform the Commander as soon as possible. Our "true leader" is present and she is prepared to speak with your own.”  Nolan dismissed Keilan, who took off immediately, bounding stealthily through the greenery. The older man sighed with relief and signaled for David to use his radio.

“Be prepared to open the gate. We’re here.” Miller’s father voiced into the device, and there was an obvious commotion in camp, distant voices multiplying in number and armed guards visibly rushing to the fence.

The only thing that lied between Camp Jaha and the woods was a small stretch of grass, but to Clarke, it looked like a god damn ocean.

“Let’s go.”

-

“Gate’s opening. Stand back.” Came the voice of Marcus Kane, and everyone shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the newer, even more ridiculously large gate to swing open so that they might enter.

“And-“ Nolan paused. “Okay, go on in.” He instructed, and the Millers stepped forward, walking into the crowd to be welcomed by familiar faces who weren’t really paying all that much attention to them. Nolan followed behind, making a beeline for who Clarke guessed was his wife, and then it was their turn.

She would complain about the death-grip Murphy had on her right hand, but she was grasping onto his left for dear life.

There were the hushed voices, the whispering, a few shouts of “Clarke's here!”, but no uproar, as expected. Clarke dragged Murphy along through the crowd, a determined look on her face as she met no eyes and recoiled from all touches. She wouldn’t drown in this. Not yet. She just got here.

She tried her best, _tried_ being the keyword, to ignore all of the murmurings of “Who’s that guy?” and “What took her so long?”

"She has _some_ _nerve_ coming back here after leaving us to die like that." Someone said, too loudly, and she pierced her nails into Murphy's palm when he lunged. He slouched immediately, returning to her side looking like a scolded puppy, but kept dragging his feet along towards the station doors anyways.

“Welcome back, Clarke.” A familiar voice called, and the man gave a gentle smile, looking down at the two of them.

“I can’t- I can’t remember. Where’s Medical, Kane?”

“I’ll show you the way.”

Clarke was relieved that Marcus wasn’t expecting a big heart-warming greeting. She needed space right now and he understood that. She was grateful for it.

They followed him down the dull halls of Mecha station, Murphy slowing their pace significantly with his wounded leg, until they reached the room that Clarke recognized.

“Thank you. Could we get settled and then discuss about the situation with the Commander?”

“It’s not up to us. Now that you’re back she’ll send messengers to give us the location and time of the meeting beforehand so that you have time to recover and decide on your guests, just like the last meeting- with less death, hopefully." Clarke cringed, and he sighed, pressing on the corner of his eye. "Sorry. So, in summary, take your time getting adjusted. They shouldn’t be here until this evening and the meeting, at least, would be tomorrow if not later.” Kane elaborated, and Clarke nodded her thanks before he turned to leave. “Abby should be in soon. I saw her in the crowd you bulldozed through.” He added, lingering in the doorway, and then disappeared.

“That was an earful. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“You’re one to talk. Didn’t you just get an arrow through your leg because you can’t shut up?” Clarke flicked Murphy’s temple as he grimaced, glancing around the room- and that’s when she saw him.

“Hey, Clarke. Welcome back.”

She rushed to him, throwing her arms around the thin boy. “Monty, oh my God!”

He gave a weak laugh that came out as more of a shudder, pulling back with a sigh.

“How’ve you been?” Clarke smiled, hand lingering awkwardly on his shoulder.

“Just dandy.” He muttered, going back to his seat on a short stool by a bed.

Clarke peered over his shoulder, and a sharp gasp flew from her parted lips.

“ _Jasper?_ ”

“He won’t answer.”

Clarke looked to Monty fearfully, concern dripping from her features as she lowered her gaze to the sickly pale creature in the bed. She hadn’t even noticed he was there, his skin nearly matched the white sheets. His face looked, in a word, dead. All parts of him appeared sunken in, cheeks looking hollow, unimaginably dark circles under his eyes.

“Is he asleep?” Clarke whispered, glancing at Monty who looked, well, exhausted.

“Usually.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Murphy asked loudly and somewhat inconsiderately from across the room, sounding more curious than worried.

Clarke had almost forgotten he was in there, jumping when he spoke.

“What isn’t?” Monty answered, reaching out to take Jordan’s bony, delicate-looking hand in his own, too gently. He flipped it over and traced the lines on his palm with such ease and sincerity that Clarke was taken aback.

“How long has he been like this?”

“A few weeks after you left. Stopped eating, drinking. Wouldn’t come outside. He’s been in here since, getting nutrients and hydration through an IV usually. Sometimes he’ll eat, soft stuff that doesn’t take too much effort. He only wakes up to ask for Maya or his parents, sometimes me, but not usually. Still hates me.” Monty said, almost recited, like it was something he had answered multiple times now.

“Monty, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s no one’s fault." After a beat, he added, "Maybe just his.” Monty said, wiping the hair from Jasper’s eyes, as if he needed to use them while he was sleeping.                                                                          

Clarke hadn’t been expecting that, and turned to Murphy- who had made himself comfortable on a bed in the farthest corner, by the window. He was no help in the- rather uncomfortable- situation, staring out at the camp that was bustling with life and overwhelming energy.

“What do you mean, Monty?”

He continued to stare down at his friend, stroking a pale hand gently with his thumb.

“He’s doing it to himself. Like we all haven’t lost people we love, like we aren’t all so god damn tired of getting our asses handed to us by this life. He’s doing it to himself.”

Clarke decided not to acknowledge the tears streaming quietly, and slowly, down the smaller boy’s face. "I thought he was stronger than this, you know?"

She didn't speak. She couldn't, her throat was tight and her voice would've caught. Even if she had said something, she didn't know what it would be. He couldn't possibly be comforted by anything she had to say.

“I don’t want to make him stay if he doesn’t want to, I know we can’t go on like this. But he’s my _best friend_ , Clarke, maybe _more_ , if he would just get up and figure this out with me. I-" His voice cracked. "I don’t want to lose that chance. I don’t want to lose _him_.”

Suddenly the guilt hit her with such force it knocked the breath out of her lungs.

She did this to them. This was her fault.

And then she left them to figure it out on their own.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered, hands shaking by her sides, knees weak suddenly and knocking against the bed frame. Jasper shifted under the covers, just barely, and Clarke moved away, attempting to give them their privacy as Monty tapped on Jasper’s shoulder several times, repeatedly and quietly asking if he wanted to eat, to no obvious avail. How often did he do this? Was Monty eating? Sleeping?

She moved over to where Murphy sat, joining him on the end of the small bed to stare out of the small circular window, as rain from the cloudy sky that had haunted them all day began bouncing against the glass. Everyone in camp scrambled to cover valuable things with tarps and sheets, scurrying to shelter in a tent or compartment.

There was the sound of a curtain closing, metal rings skating across the curved rod on the ceiling, and the two boys across the room were no longer visible.

Everything hurt. It was her fault.

She remembered why she left, now.

Murphy wrapped an arm around her and she leaned on his shoulder as he wiped a tear from her cheek. He turned to the window again. "It's not your fault."

"Now you're lying."

He didn't answer her, he didn't argue. Not this time.

“Nice day.” He whispered, as raindrops drummed a soothing rhythm on the thick glass.

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke whined, and Murphy’s slouch intensified.

“Regarding the weather.”

“It’s raining.”

“I noticed."

She sniffed and, instead of continuing to talk, thankfully, he lifted a hand to run through her hair, tugging at the small knots until they came undone, flicking away grains of sand and dirt. "You gonna tell me what that shit outside of the fence was?"

Clarke scoffed, curling into his side. "You tasted like vomit, anyway."

"That was definitely you, Clarke."

"Like you can complain. The only thing you've ever kissed is Bellamy Blake's ass."

Murphy tugged hard on a strand of her hair and she squeaked. "I felt like throwing you for a loop is all! Also, I wa-"

Suddenly, the door to Medical hit the wall with a loud _'BANG'_ , causing both of them to jump and bump heads as they scrambled to separate. It was reflexive, really, something that Clarke would likely feel bad about later. It wasn't like she was doing something wrong, right?

No, it wasn't _what_ she was doing. There was nothing wrong with sitting next to someone.

It was _who with._

“Clarke!”

Before she could turn around, the blonde was being crushed by those loving, forgiving arms.

“Mom.”

It appeared their reunion hug would be similar to their last. Full of tears.

“Don’t you _ever_ leave me like that again, you understand?”

“No promises.”

Her mother gave her a look.

“We’ll talk about _that_ later.” Abby scolded, smoothing down her daughter’s wildly frizzy hair with steady hands.

“In that case, could you help me fix my friend here?” The youngest Griffin asked gently, wiping her eyes.

Clarke pulled away from the hug and glanced at Murphy, who had an obvious glow about him after hearing himself be referred to as 'friend'.

“Again? You have got to be more careful with that leg, John Murphy.” He smiled sheepishly in response, and Clarke couldn’t recall her mother meeting him before, but she supposed, if so, that that was better anyway. She seemed to like him, even.

“I’ll take care of him. Your compartment is 119- it's on the door- just down the hall. Get some proper rest, then we’ll get you cleaned up and fed.”

“Where’s Murphy going to stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know-“ Her mother looked to the boy in front of her, and he looked to Clarke.

“He can stay with me.”

“Clarke-“ Murphy started, and Abby raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Clarke turned to see Monty peeking suspiciously around the curtain.

It didn’t matter.

She didn’t care.

“I’m sure of it. At least for now. I don’t need that much space to myself anyway.”

 _“And I’ve been living with him for four months,”_ Clarke thought, but kept that little bite-size piece of information to herself.

Murphy was practically beaming with gratitude when Abby nodded, and Clarke made her way towards the exit, trying her hardest not to look over at the thin wall of red fabric that divided her from her sins.

Metaphorically, of course. That wall only kept her from seeing her sins with faces to go with them. They were in her heart, always. She felt them every minute of the day, weighing her down, cursing her name from inside of her. There was no curtain, then.

But she could do this. She could be okay, right?

Clarke nudged open the door with her elbow, glancing up and down the hall as people rushed in seeking shelter from the rain. A quiet voice echoed in the room behind her.

“So am I supposed to take off my pants?”

Clarke bit her lip as she smiled, and closed the door.

-

"119. There you are." Clarke murmured, and twisted the handle. It didn't budge. She glanced over at the, apparently, newly reactivated key card lock system. They really didn't think to give the access card to her first?

She was backing away from the door to go find her mother again, when she collided with another body. A wet one, at that.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't-"

He blinked at her, curls matted to his freckled forehead by the rain, and she swore she heard all of the gears in her head stop turning at once.

"Do you know who has my key card?"

**Author's Note:**

> How do you feel?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I love you all for tolerating this DISASTER of a fic. Who's ready for me to wrap it up? Because I'm not sure I can. Does anyone even want me to continue this from here? 
> 
> <3 Thank you, as always.


End file.
